May The Force Be With You
by alwayswritewithcoffee
Summary: Castle discovers Beckett enjoys a bit of cosplay and attending sci-fi conventions. Set season two and three.
1. Chapter 1

_Inspired by a fan art of Beckett dressed as Han Solo and, in part, by 5x06 The Final Frontier. Set in season two between 2x06 'Vampire Weekend' and 2x07 'Famous Last Words'._

* * *

As hard as it is to see from between the layers of a Storm Trooper mask, Rick is surprised he notices her at all. Even once his eyes have focused on the slim figure currently walking away from him, he still has to do a double take.

For one, the dress his partner is wearing is ridiculously short and stretches tight across her backside in a way that he hasn't seen material do since Beckett called a cardigan an outfit and adopted a Russian accent to save him from the mob.

It'd been sexy as hell, though he'd saved himself from bodily harm by somehow managing to bite his tongue until she'd gotten properly dressed after kicking the boys out of the surveillance van.

But in any case, the memory lingers, brought back to life with the swing of her hips across the convention hall floor with her legs bare from mid thigh to the black boots that start a couple inches below her knees.

And the hair. He knows its a wig, or extensions. Some kind of girly hair wizardry that has taken the chestnut strands that only recently began to touch her shoulders into some long, complicated configuration that falls almost to her waist.

Even without seeing her face, Rick has decided that long hair is a style Kate Beckett should adopt.

She turns suddenly, and he loses her with the restricted eye sight available with the helmet on his head. There's indecision swimming in his brain, his curiosity about why straight-laced, often hard-ass Detective Beckett is all dressed up (be it in a costume that's rather lame because who actually watched Nebula 9) at a sci-fi convention at war with all the times she'd huffed at him about boundaries and a possible accidental discharge of her service weapon if Rick didn't start respecting them.

It takes all of ten seconds before he's ignoring the warning signs, creeping along the aisle of displays and quickly peering between them until Rick realizes he's wearing a full plastic suit that renders him unrecognizable.

Even if Beckett looked directly at him, there's simply no way she'd make him as, well, himself.

He takes the aisle that runs parallel to the row he suspects Beckett turned onto, grateful for the map of the convention floor that he memorized before arriving. After so many years of being defunct, there's only one booth win a small section of merchandise from Nebula 9, mostly things that collectors are trying to part with to a moderately interested crowd.

By the time he approaches the table, the booth owner is hard at work trying to sell his partner a replica blaster which Beckett takes from the man with a reverence that makes him smile under the mask.

"You gonna buy that?" When Rick speaks, its with a voice that's far more ragged than anything he'd use in every day life. The sound out of his mouth is lower, scratchy and with a much slower cadence that what his usual rapid fire speech pattern would be.

It seems to do the trick because she doesn't give off any flash of recognition, eyes hesitant but polite when she glances his way. "No, I don't think so," Kate replies, placing the toy back onto the display.

If he didn't know her so well, he'd have missed the way her fingers linger at the edges of the purple plastic, the tiny release of breath and split-second of longing that shades her face before she's let go of the toy and focused those hazel eyes on his storm trooper self.

"Is that thing comfortable?"

The answer is no. It's a heavy costume, incredibly cumbersome to move in, and growing hotter by the minute. Already Rick can feel that his under shirt and shorts are soaked through with sweat, and his shoulders are beginning to ache with carrying extra pounds of plastic around for hours without relief. But he goes for sarcasm rather than honesty, taking a moment to allow his brain to switch into the different voice he's adopted, lips shaping the first consonant before he gives it a voice.

"Most comfortable thing I've ever worn," he jokes, grinning when Beckett's lips curve upward and he gets a flash of her teeth as she smiles, "Why Nebula 9?"

Even if Rick isn't strictly a fan, his geek card demands a certain knowledge of practically everything in the genre. The show is seared into his brain for how little enjoyment he found in it with the cheesy effects and over dramatic actors, but he recognizes the insignia pinned to the purple section of the dress.

Kate is cosplaying as Lieutenant Chloe, the debatable heroine on the ship and the uncontested space traveler with super-model level hotness.

"It's not all that popular anymore, I know," she replies with a shrug, two spots of a light pink flush painting her cheeks as Kate bites her lip. It's fascinating to see her relax into the story, shoulders at ease even though she's got one arm draped across her waist. She's still smiling a little, top teeth sinking into her bottom lip at the delight of some memory that Rick isn't privy too.

This is the woman he only sees glimpses of. This is the one who smiles when their fingers brush as he gives her coffee, who will dredge up a joke or some infuriating moment to flirt with him before she's back to business putting killers behind bars. This is the Beckett who opened up to him about her mother's murder, about being a baseball fan.

This is the woman he wants to see more of, but can't always reach.

"It aired at the right time, I think," she says finally, "I was away from home for the first time and this group of people out on their own, trying to figure their lives out when the rest of their home has been destroyed? That spoke to me. Leaving home, finding your identity, working to make a difference; those were all things I could relate to at the time. Still can on most days," Kate adds with a shrug.

Rick wishes he had a pen and his notebook because suddenly he's drowning in inspiration, the war to write down paragraph after paragraph for Nikki going to battle with his need to pull off his helmet and thank Kate for her honesty.

He reigns himself in, clearing his throat with effort, "And Chloe?"

"She didn't care what anyone thought of her, so dressing up like her made me feel invincible. And sometimes, even years later, I need a reminder of what that's like, so I come here, pretend to be someone else for a few hours. Get out of my own head for a while."

Those are words he finds himself relating to, so easily able to recall young Rick Rodgers and how difficult it was to fit in. Sci-fi, writing, comic books, those were the things that got him through stretches of loneliness and bouncing from school to school, borough to borough, neighborhood to neighborhood. Even once Rick found his groove, made some friends and became somewhat of a class clown, he held on to those loves, always painfully aware that not all relationships lasted.

People could hurt you. Books (and movies) would always be there.

"I can understand that," he mutters, shifting from one foot to another in lieu of being able to use his hands to fidget, "I'm the same in a lot of ways, dressing up and coming here to get out of my head, to meet other people."

When her phone rings, Kate's mouth is open to say something that quickly dies on her lips. But there's a moment where he's so sure that his partner is going to flash a bit more leg and retrieve the device from some hidden holster at her thigh that he's vastly disappointed when she squeezes the flip phone from a tiny pocket at her hip and barks out, "Beckett'.

Less than a minute later she's hung up, apology in her eyes as she holds the phone out for him, "I'm sorry, that was work. I have to go, but it was nice meeting you…..?"

"Alexander," Rick supplies quickly, cringing at the way his accent falls slightly short and the complete unoriginality of using his given middle name. It's very likely that super fan Beckett already knows his birth name and, given the fact she's a cop, he's probably on his way to a blown cover when she's halfway out the door.

"Alexander," Kate repeats with a smile, "Maybe I'll see you again sometime."

"Count on it," he whispers, ignoring the giddy thrill that sends his heart beating overtime as Beckett saunters away in those high heeled boots, phone to her ear as she goes.

He's still watching her hips sway back and forth (and he swear she's added an extra pop to them for his benefit) when his phone chirps from the depth of his gym short pockets, impossible to get too without stripping off his costume in the middle of the floor. But it's Beckett's ringtone, paging him to a murder.

Rick still takes the time to purchase the blaster, paying extra for gift wrap and delivery to the 12th Precinct from one R. Alexander.

And he has the added joy of seeing Beckett's face, and her hastily defensive explanation, when it's waiting on her desk after they return to her desk from their latest crime scene.


	2. Chapter 2

_his section is set just before 3x01 'A Deadly Affair'._

* * *

It turns out that Darth Vader attracts infinitely more attention that your average Storm Trooper. From the moment Rick had stepped off the elevator he'd been approached by kids and adults alike, all of them with various requests. Photos with light sabers, groups of people posing with big smiles while he stands like a statue. He's even roped into a couple of replica scenes with fellow cosplayers.

All of it is fun, he laughs, he jokes around, even answers some questions about where he managed to get such a fantastic replica costume. One con attendee even recognizes his voice, asking in a breathy whisper if he happens to be Richard Castle the mystery writer.

It does him a world of good to see the woman's eyes light up when he confirms her suspicion, treated to her enthusiasm for the preview chapters of Naked Heat as he signs her dog-eared copy of Flowers For Your Grave when its pulled from the depths of her tote bag.

The excitement and sparkle in her eyes, the bounce of her shoulder length auburn hair as she hurries away from him to catch up with friends makes him ache for another super fan. Today marks four months with no contact from Beckett, with two days left until summer bids a farewell and autumn begins to take hold of the city, Rick wonders if he didn't make a mistake in allowing their silence to stretch on as it has.

She's busy with Demming, he reminds himself for the millionth time. If she wanted to talk to you, she'd have called.

And while that might be true, it doesn't hurt any less. His pining for Beckett and their partnership might have done great things for the book, but it managed to self-destruct whatever short lived fling he'd concocted with Gina.

His ex-wife/ex-girlfriend/soon to be ex-book editor had left his Hamptons house at the end of July, huffing at him to stop being an over grown child and to stop playing house with one woman when he wanted another.

Rick hadn't had the energy to explain that the one he wanted was already taken and, beyond that, likely an uninterested party in his aspirations for more beyond solving murders and sharing drinks at the cop bar Beckett, Ryan and Esposito had been patrons of since their first days on the force.

Even dressed in his costume, wandering along the convention floor that's teaming with people he feels ridiculous. He'd only dressed up in the hope that Beckett would remember Alexander the Storm Trooper, that she'd maybe carve out a day in her schedule to pay the convention a visit and give him some of that magic that's been missing in his life.

But on his fourth hour of passing through the room and the halls of the center he's seen no long legged detective with choppy chestnut hair. It's disheartening enough that he's already resolved to leave after one more pass, to return to the loft and force himself to sign all the promotional books that Paula has been hounding him about for nearly a week.

With his eyes focused on the floor, he nearly misses her. It's only due to an overeager fan that begins to call 'Darth Vader, Darth Vader' that Rick's attention shifts from the faces strolling past to a corner of the enormous lobby where three small children are dressed as Luke Skywalker, Princess Leia, and Yoda. Some reluctant guy has been roped in wearing a makeshift Chewbacca outfit, a teenage girl standing next to him in a glittering dress that is meant to be a stylized version of C-3PO.

He completely misses R2D2 lounging on the stairs, too busy staring at the swinging ponytail of chocolate brown hair that bounces when its owner bends down to give Leia a high five and share a grin with her literal and fictional twin. As usual, Kate Beckett is stunning, hair longer than he's ever seen (and he's fairly sure it's not the effort of extensions. Fake hair couldn't possibly hold up to whatever magical properties hers seems to have.), legs encased in tight pants and flat boots with a thigh holster hanging from her left hip.

She's come as Han Solo which is about as cool as it gets. At least for him.

With a newfound spring in his step, Rick joins the group for several photos, shifting into various positions as requested by the woman he's assumed is the mother of the three young children who are beaming with delight at their makeshift photo shoot. It's the fourth (and last, the mother promises) such configuration that puts him directly beside Beckett.

"So tell me, did you shoot first?" Rick asks his Han Solo clad detective, adopting the same gravelly voice he'd first used in October, smile hidden under his mask when Kate flinches at the sound and turns wide, smiling eyes towards his mask.

"Alexander?"

"Hello, again," he chuckles, discreetly pointing towards the camera now poised at them so the mother gets her final shot of the group. Three quick high fives to the kids and he's being escorted by Kate to the emptiest corner of the room, her fingers warm and soft where they rest at his elbow.

There's no small amount of delight that he can feel her need to question him, and Rick settles in for the ride, all too aware of how determined she can be when catching a scent.

God, he's missed her.

"How did you find me to send that toy blaster?" Kate asks, a question that he's spent several months thinking about. Still, Rick has to pause to gather his facts, stringing together the story in his own mind before he begins to tell her.

"I recognized you from that magazine article," he says, ignoring the flash of guilt at lying to Kate, "The one about the Nikki Heat book? You were working with that novelist and he had helped you solve some murders in the city…."

"Castle," she grits out, his name followed by a huff of air that Rick would take for anger if not for the flash of longing that colors her eyes before Kate manages to put her mask back into place. He's sure she's not faking her annoyance at him, she's not that good of an actress unless they're in the box, but he can't stop the bloom of hope that begins low in his gut.

If she misses him, she might forgive him; for all of it.

"Yeah, that guy," Rick continues, plowing ahead full steam, "I looked the story up on the internet, found the precinct address, and had it delivered. Hopefully you aren't upset with me, I just thought it might be a nice reminder…."

"It was," Kate replies softly, "Thank you for sending it to me."

In all relationships, especially newborn ones, there comes the awkward silence, and it creeps up on him with a swiftness that surprises Rick. Hadn't he spent days roaming around his house planning for this? Working up a way to admit to Beckett that he was the one under the Storm Trooper mask and that there was more to him than her ridiculous, annoying side kick?

He can't think of a single thing to say, and Kate's already fidgeting at his side, eyes far away as she observes a Batman and Robin staging some comical fight not far from the main entrance to the convention floor.

"I saw there's another book coming out," Rick blurts, cringing in horror at the unfiltered words. Wanting to know Beckett's opinion on his work is nothing new, but there's an element of fear in playing with a newly lit fire and up this close he can see the resignation and defensiveness that the question has brought on. Suddenly she looks defeated, a little lonely and lost, and there's a part of him that he has to reign in to keep from reaching for her, offering comfort even while hidden under a mask and cape.

"Probably the last one," she offers with a shrug, "Castle's busy doing other things now, I don't expect he'll be shadowing me any longer."

Now he's the one growing defensive. A litany of excuses filter into his brain with a swiftness that leaves Rick buzzing with them, fingers twitching inside his leather gloves as his teeth dig into the flesh of his bottom lip hard enough that he tastes blood, "What makes you so sure?" he questions, aware that his voice is a tad off the mark, less purposefully scratchy and more driven from emotion.

"I haven't seen him, or spoken to him, in four months," Kate replies, ice radiating in her tone. She's no longer lost and searching for something, she's now moved straight towards angry and fed up, "Does that sound like someone who wants to come back and work with me?"

"Maybe he's just busy," he says quietly, hoping she can't hear the regret and hurt that colors his voice at how easily Kate has brushed him aside. "Or maybe he's waiting for you to call."

If a look could kill, he'd certainly be lying on the ground with a useless heart. Beckett gives him her best glare, muscle going to work in her jaw as she sizes him up. "The person that leaves is the one who has to come back, Alexander. I didn't go anywhere, he did."

Her defensive strategy is effective, anger radiating from the top of her head to the edges of her scuffed boots. But memory is powerful and Rick has plenty of experiences in which he has seen how Beckett uses anger to hide in, to keep herself from being vulnerable and limit potential for hurt.

The truth of it is right under the surface, swimming in a steady current that tells him he has to make it right. And already his brain is working furiously, coming up with all the ways he can and will make it up to her for being so absolutely stupid. Demming or no Demming, he at least owes her his friendship, not the pettiness of hiding in his beach house for a summer.

"Right," Rick echoes after a moment, "He's an ass."


	3. Chapter 3

_Part three is set between 3x01 'A Deadly Affair' and runs through 3x03 'He's Dead, She's Dead'._

* * *

She never used to be the sort of girl who slept with an electronic device under her pillow. Kate's cell phone didn't count, it was only there for work and usually discarded near the front door on mornings where she wasn't on call. The start to her day used to consist of yoga, going for a run, rushing through a shower and forgoing breakfast to get to the precinct or a crime scene; whichever came first.

But now she lingers in bed, fingers reaching for the tablet that has become her sleeping partner, smile already on her face just at the thought of an email.

More often than not R. Alexander is there waiting, the unchecked email displayed in brilliant bold letters with some late night reply to her latest musing. This particular chain has been going on for over a week; full of long discussions about their favorite books, the most embarrassing experiences they've managed in their mutual careers, why the Subway system is both the most frustrating and fascinating device in the city. It's all peppered with sci-fi references and callbacks that would make her blush around any other human but here, under the safety of a glowing screen and touch to type letters, she feels safe in giving into to her nerdy side.

Alexander understands her in a way so few have in Kate's life; and he's so easily worked himself into her day to day existence that she's beginning to feel a craving to share more with him. Personal things that happen at work, the ongoing struggle of trying to find footing again with Castle and her constant guilt with not only his role in her homicide team but as her friend.

She flies between wanting to claw his eyes out and hugging him close, never quite sure which desire might win at any particular moment.

Kate forces her mind to settle, fingers hovering against the screen until the words have formed in her mind. They're so visceral; the image clear as she begins to type. It's a little bit like therapy in the way the letters fly from her fingers, elegant and graceful in their casual movement.

_Do you ever feel like you are on a tightrope? Sometimes I swear that my life is nothing but one big circus and I'm balanced high above everyone on a wire, just hoping I make it to the other side in one piece._

_It's exhausting._

* * *

_Do I ever feel like I'm on a tightrope? Only every day of my life. But I think that's a mark of adulthood, of living life to the best of our abilities. Things don't always go smoothly, we're going to struggle sometimes and feel that we're one wrong step from tipping over the edge. You certainly aren't alone in that._

She's touched by the reply, gratitude welling up in the same instant that Kate has to bite her lip to keep from laughing in the middle of the bullpen. It'd taken Alexander a couple of days to get back to her, in which time she'd managed to close her case with the triple homicides of a teacher, a sculptor, and a vending machine owner.

Now it's a day of paperwork and waiting for the next case to drop in; the sort of afternoon that is just slow enough she's convinced herself there's no harm in taking a break. Re-reading the email that had been waiting in her inbox is natural, the sort of thing that lifts her sagging spirit as Kate holds out for the final twenty minutes until her lunch break.

She's at the final portion of the email - a story about locating Star Wars office supplies that she'd love in the Bowery - when the white box floats in front of her face and down onto her blotter, wafting a delicious smell of what her nose immediately places as a Remy's burger and her favorite seasoned fries.

Kate's stomach is already gurgling with delight as she spins to put her sights on her partner, his blue eyes dancing with pride. "Reading anything interesting?" Castle asks her casually, leaning towards the screen with that curious curl of a smile that usually spells trouble or, at the very least, an insane theory.

"Nothing!" she exclaims, grateful for fast reflexes. One click of the screen and the window with her email disappears, leaving her full of relief and Castle pouting with disappointment. The last thing she wants is for him to see the line about Darth Vader and Yoda pencil erasers and begin teasing her in front of the boys. It's too private, too personal.

The look Rick gives at her outburst is appraising, those clear blue eyes flickering over her face as if he's trying to work out a very appealing problem. He's like a hound dog on the hunt for the target, sniffing for a clue in order to start baying for his handler. And Kate waits him out, ready to deflect and twist the situation with a quirk of her lips and maybe a subtle flirt or two.

But it never comes. Instead, Castle takes three steps towards his chair with a forced casualness that absolutely conflicts with the moment. The ease at which he drops the trail is the thing that raises her hackles the most, the tables spinning sideways so that she's now the one ready to sniff for a clue.

Kate just doesn't know what she's looking for, though she promises herself that she'll figure it out. But, for now, she flips open the box that contains her lunch; gesturing vaguely in acceptance of his offer to make coffee. Her stomach gives another rumble as the scent of the grilled beef hits her nose; happy at the knowledge that food will soon be on its way.

What she doesn't expect is a bright flash of color taped to the underside of lid. It takes a bit of work to pry the cellophane bag away from the scotch tape, but she can feel the surprise painted on her face. Kate's rarely been so grateful of Castle's need to constantly keep her supplied in coffee.

It's always been a God send in its own way, but right now his absence affords her time to analyze the present, to school her expression so that she's deceptively neutral and munching on fries when the hot mug of coffee is placed on her desk.

The four eraser tops are stored in the depths of her top drawer, hidden from her partner but etched into her mind. Each is a unique mold of a Star Wars staple: Yoda, Darth Vader, a Storm Trooper, and R2D2; exact replicas of the set described in Alexander's email.

* * *

_I think I've made a mistake. I found a secret out about someone I'm close too and, in my panic, I hid it from them. And, truthfully, I've been lying for so long that every time the idea of just telling the truth comes up, I think I'm going to have a panic attack. I hate it because it makes me feel like a terrible person, even though I don't believe I'm terrible for keeping the secret initially._

_It was never my intention to hurt anyone but, as life so often does, the most well intentioned action has snowballed on me. And I'm worried, even though I know I can't keep this up forever; that one day the bill will be due, but what happens once I've paid the outstanding balance?_

_I just hope there's a bit more room for forgiveness. I've already hurt our friendship, and even weeks later it still feels like I'm walking on eggshells and waiting for the other shoe to drop, to be pushed away on a permanent basis._

_I just want things to be as they were. Or to be better. Definitely better._

* * *

_I think you're underestimating your friend. If the friendship and the connection is as strong and as valuable as you seem to believe it is, you'll be forgiven. You said it yourself, the secret isn't destructive, you weren't setting out to harm anyone, and friendship is more important than any of that._

_You're worth forgiving, Alexander. It will be better._

* * *

"So, what did Penny have to tell you?"

The redhead has just disappeared behind the sliding elevator doors, a slight spring back into her step now that they've solved her mother's murder, when Castle appears at her side. She feels absurdly giddy about this entire set up, the shadow of a smile trying its best to win the war of neutrality that she's plastered onto her face.

"Oh, nothing," she says with a shrug, pivoting on one heel so that she's afforded a full glance of her partner. While there are some things that Kate might be satisfied with missing, this won't be one of them, "Just something about an Alexander that didn't make any sense."

Got him. Her mind is crowing with victory from the moment that Castle draws in a hesitant breath, eyes sparking to life with a vivid cerulean that makes her abdominal muscles clench with a sense of want that no longer threatens to send her into a panic. "Why?" Kate asks, so glad she's had years of practice at feigning indifference while her insides are doing the samba.

"No reason," her partner replies with his own air of nonchalance, the very sort of thing that makes Kate want to reach forward and smack the hell out of his arm. She's enjoyed toying with him the past week, downplaying the little sci-fi gifts that have popped up on her desk, in the cruiser and even in her blazer pocket, and then writing long emails about her fears and worries.

She doesn't doubt that Castle likes her; is no longer bothered by the fact he dumped her for a dalliance with his ex-wife. Alexander had given her an example so true to their current situation that she'd sat on her couch and cried with frustration, days of guessing and second guessing her electronic companions real identity confirmed by words on a screen that expressed his regret and disappointment with how it all played out.

"Your middle name is Edgar." Kate volleys back, reigning in her need to hit Castle. But she's also amused, fighting that damn smile by digging her teeth into her bottom lip.

"I changed my middle name to Edgar in honor of Edgar Allen Poe back when I changed my last name to Castle. My given name is Richard Alexander Rodgers." The explanation is simple, one that she thinks he's probably given to people numerous times over the years, but even at a distance Kate can see the disappointment that has clouded his eyes to a muted, somber shade.

"Oh, I see," she replies with a short nod of her head, playing for time by scraping one heel against the scuffed floor boards of the bullpen. It's also a ploy that puts Kate within reaching distance of her partner, "And you don't use Alexander anywhere else now?"

The guilt that melts into his expression makes her ache, fingers twitching with the need to reach out and soothe him. But Kate forces herself to resist, curling the digits into the palm of her hand as he takes a long swallow and heaves out a defeated sigh, "Look, Beckett….." It's as far as he gets before nerves get the better of him, the double t's of her name soft and hesitant rather than the crisp consonants she expects.

That small hitch shatters her resolve to continue toying with him, and Kate reaches up before she's considered the consequences of where they are and who might be watching. But she can't deny how right it feels to have the warmth of Castle's cheek in her palm, how invigorating it is to see the guilt burned out by simple joy at the intimate touch, "I know you're R. Alexander, Castle. I've known for a couple weeks."

Castle's breath exits in a rush, tension sagging out of his shoulders with the relief of being unburdened from the truth and she smiles at him, thumb brushing slowly across the soft skin under his eye, "I'm so sorry, Beckett. I just didn't know how to tell you and things were so weird and I…."

"It's okay," she keeps it simple, lifting up on her toes to gain the extra two inches she needs, "If you'll take me out to dinner tonight, I'm willing to forgive you."

The smile that crawls across his face is brilliant, bright like afternoon sunshine that spills through the large windows that frame the stairwell behind them. She's prepared for that, and the stunned laughter, the quiet happiness that exists in their little bubble where there are no secrets keeping them apart.

She isn't prepared for the way he swoops in, mouth hungry and eager when it slides against her own for a long, wet kiss. "You've got a deal, Kate," he mutters, sucking in one more breath before he's kissing her again, ignoring the whistles and catcalls that have begun in earnest from the homicide division.

"Oh God," she sighs, blush high on her cheeks once they part for good, still grinning like fools at one another. The din behind them hasn't stopped, but when she finally turns to face her co-workers it's with a shrug of her shoulders that makes everyone laugh, "You can stop with the money pool now everyone. Congratulations on making a few bucks over my personal life."

Esposito is still scowling at Ryan, who is busy snapping three twenty dollar bills in front of his face, when she snags Castle's three center fingers with her own, leading him back to his chair, "Just stay put, I'll be finished in a few minutes."

"Sure thing, Detective," he answers, voice pitched purposefully low so that she'll blush and key in the wrong passcode to her computer, "But can I just ask you a question?"

Kate's still glaring at him for forcing her mistake, as he leers at her, but she gives in with another silent dip of her head; lips pursed and ready for whatever absurd question that will come out of his mouth.

"Do you have any other costumes that I haven't seen yet?"

At that she smiles, tipping her head towards the ceiling with an exaggerated gesture of thought, "As a matter of fact, I do," Kate teases, "my birthday suit."


End file.
